


Ghosts

by jessahmewren



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, F/M, MSR, Pregnant Dana Scully, Season/Series 08, Vignette, Within
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: Scully visits Mulder's apartment after he goes missing.  Episode related: Season 8 Episode 1: Within





	Ghosts

 

-0-0-0-

The lock snicked in the expected way, causing her belly to knot in an almost primal anticipatory response to seeing him.  

But he was not here.  

There were no tears in that realization.  She was out of salt and water but still had plenty of grief.  

The door swung open on its hinge, a slight creak in the tomb-like silence.  Scully stepped inside, greeted by familiar ghosts.  

His long form, lean, trim legs stretched over a leather couch, his peaceful face asleep under the light of a strobing television set.  His shoulders, broad and strong, hunched over the computer at his desk. His feet, wearing ruts into the floor, working out theories in his head, waiting on a contact, or worrying over her.

The room was empty.  

The rain had stopped on her way over, but the musty smell of the rain on pavement coupled with the dust and emptiness left the apartment feeling dank and vacant.  She ghosted a hand over the desk, a faint circle where the base of his computer had been, and swallowed.  

_Mulder_ , she thought desperately,  _Mulder where are you?_

She could feel her eyes sting, but no tears would come.  She walked into the bedroom.  

Mulder…his broad smile, his eyes sparkling.  His hands, threading her hair, moving down the length of her back to grab her thigh. His body fused with hers, creating a miracle, the recipe for life that now resides in her womb.  

The bed was empty.  

She approached it now as she would an altar…hesitantly and with no small measure of awe.  The sheets were turned back, and if she closed her eyes she could imagine Mulder awaking with a jolt, slipping out of bed before they headed for Oregon. Stretching, grabbing the bag he’d packed the night before.  Jumping in the shower.  A little stab of pain flared in her heart.  

At the foot of the bed lay one of his dress shirts.  She caught her breath, reverently running her fingers over the fabric.  Gingerly she picked it up and pressed it to her chest. Was it  _his_  or was it freshly laundered, she wondered feverishly.  She tucked the shirt beneath her chin.  

It was his.

It smelled of him…of masculinity and soap and a tang of sweat.  If she couldn’t fill her body with him she would fill her lungs, so she took a deep breath, resisting the urge to bury her face in the blue pinstripe fabric.  She crawled onto the bed, the shirt clutched to her like the most precious thing in the world, and embraced it.  

She lay there, trying to remember the last time he’d worn it.  Stupidly, she couldn’t.  It didn’t matter.  It was his.  It was  _him_.  It was all she had.  

But not all. She closed her eyes.  Her hand slipped down to her lower abdomen where somewhere, nestled in the dark, was a piece of Mulder too.  

-0-0-0-


End file.
